


The Skate Gang Produces an Ice Show

by blackmountainbones



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Assholery, Crack, F/M, I promise, M/M, Manipulation, Stalking, but i said "no no no", but it makes sense even if you've never watched "always sunny", but it's all in good fun, everyone is terrible and no one has any redeeming qualities whatsoever, how far do you have to go before crackfic becomes methfic, i should learn to procrastinate like a normal person, i tried to update my long fic i wrote crack instead, methfic, my betas tried to make me go to rehab, schemes, screw it i'm tagging this however i want, you can trust me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones
Summary: Welcome to the St Petersburg Ice Kremlin--an ice rink owned by shady businessman Viktor Nikiforov, run by his fiancé Yuuri Katsuki, and staffed by their friends Jean-Jaques Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, and Yuri Plisetsky. When Viktor acquires the rights to "Poodles on Ice", the Skate Gang find themselves enmeshed in the greatest scheme of all: trying to produce an ice spectacular the likes of which the world has never before seen.Well, it's always sunny in St Petersburg...





	

**Author's Note:**

> remember the time i ate 3 weed brownies and then spammed the discord with headcanons about a pastiche between the pure and innocent cinnamon rolls of Yuri!!! on Ice! and the evil dumpster babies from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia for hours?... yeah, me neither. luckily [modernart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012) saved screenshots. so uh, blame them, not me.
> 
> my betas [muspell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell) and modernart assure me that you don't need to know anything about the show or the characters to enjoy this fic. special thanks goes out to [boxwineconfessions](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions), a fellow iasip and yoi fan (can you believe there are two of us?) for Gang-proofing this for me.
> 
> so many thanks to the discord crew for enabling this nonsense (you know who you are). and to [phayte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phayte/pseuds/Phayte) and [kinoglowworm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KinoGlowWorm/pseuds/KinoGlowWorm) for enabling me on tumblr. it truly takes a village to raise a demon.

The rink was nearly empty, save for the few regulars who religiously attended the happy-hour skate 2 hours for the price of one! deal that the Ice Kremlin offered every Monday through Thursday from noon to four pm.

This fact did not appear to distract the rink employees from their argument, which was escalating quickly.

“We actually have customers, so can we just do our jobs for once today?” A tall man with an undercut and a Canadian accent said. He managed to talk while looking at his reflection in the mirror behind the skate rental counter.

“I already did job,” the sharply dressed silver-haired one said in a thick Russian accent. “Launder money I get from smuggle guns to Ukraine.”

“Viktor,” the vain one said again, all the while maintaining eye contact with his reflection, “You could try _not_ laundering the money and actually contribute to some sort of profit-making activity around here. Why did you buy this rink in the first place?”

“Ah, dear JJ, I buy rink for my Yuuri. So he have some place to make music with his body, always!” Viktor tightened his grip on the Japanese man with the glasses and chunky thighs at his side. He was surreptitiously trying to get Yuuri to drink out of the silver flask he occasionally extricated from his pocket, but Yuuri swatted him away as he attempted to accomplish some mundane task relevant to ice-skating rinks.

“You bought a rink for your piggy, but when was the last time he danced on anything but your dick?” the small blond emo kid said. He wore four clashing kinds of animal print and was currently flanked by several cats that had followed him inside from the alley behind the rink. His Russian accent was a bit less pronounced than Viktor’s and though he was small and beautiful, his voice rumbled with a primitive kind of menace.

“Yurio, nyet!” Viktor said, swatting the small catlike teenager. “Do nice kitty. No growl.”

Yuri quickly retreated to lick his wounds and complain to Yuuri, while Viktor and JJ continued bickering good-naturedly over what, precisely, constituted _work_ at the Ice Castle while all four of them continued to ignore their customers. All in all, it was a day like any other.

“Guys, I’ve got news!” a deep, softly lisping voice announced. A man of bleached-blond and mature sexuality let the door to the rink slam shut behind him as he stomped his way over to the rental counter where his friends were sitting.

Chris was always coming in hot with news and Yuuri, Viktor, JJ, and the smaller, more feline Yuri all leaned forward in anticipation.

“I met a man today at Park Sosnovska.”

His four friends regarded him with skeptical expressions.

“Now, I know you may be asking, ‘Now Chris, what would an obviously straight man such as yourself be doing in St Petersburg’s most notorious cruising location?’, but let’s move past that to answer the important questions.”

Viktor, JJ, Yuuri, and Yuri only rolled their eyes as they waited for Chris to continue. After many years of friendship, they had learned that any mention of the man’s obvious homosexuality would only cause him to fall into a catatonic state of denial, so they tried their best not to say anything as Chris continued to share the news.

So Chris continued to ramble on. “This man has a full production, waiting to go! Choreography, music, libretto--everything! He even has a man for costumes.”

At the mention of costumes, Viktor’s interest was piqued. He always did have a thing for pageantry and spectacle which had led to not a few expensive failures. Regardless, those flops never seemed to discourage him. Viktor was incredibly rich, but more than that, his intimate knowledge of tax loopholes allowed him to profit off of even the most devastating financial losses.

“Get this--the play is called....” Here Chris pauses for dramatic emphasis. However, he waited a bit too long, as the audience began to squirm uncomfortably before he finished his sentence. “...Poodles on Ice!”

Viktor, of course, was immediately thrilled, wagging his silky silver head as though it were a the tail of an especially excitable aging golden retriever. His rinkmates, however, were not so convinced: JJ, Yuuri, and Yuri shared a meaningful side-eye as they settled back to watch.

“I don’t know, Viktor. Poodles on Ice, do you really think there’s a target market for that kind of thing here in St Petersburg?” Yuuri asked skeptically. His lover continued to drape against him, boneless, and Yuuri shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to balance his weight and continue doing whatever vaguely productive thing Yuuri had been doing.

“Yuuri has a point,” Chris agreed, distractedly helping Yuuri while also managing to cop a feel of the shorter man’s round ass. Yuuri, however, was used to Chris exhibiting this type of repressed homosexual behavior, and said nothing.

“This man, he sound like--how you say?--real deal. He has whole score written, everything! Also says he has a guy for costume, Chris says,” Viktor said, while hanging all over his lover, who was trying his best to ignore him while he polished the blades of the rental skates. A lecherous hand slipped down the back of Yuuri’s clingy tights.

“Ugh, gross, Viktor,” Yuri bared his teeth, offended by the gratuitous display of affection, but Viktor just chuckled and continued his groping.

“I’m telling you Yurio, he said he would come to the rink to give Viktor a pitch at fourteen o’clock.” Chris waggled an admonishing finger in Yuri’s face. The cat at Yuri’s side gave him a warning swat.

Yuri rolled his eyes, and returned to his task of disinfecting the rental skate with a noxious antiseptic spray. “It’s already 14:30. Face it old man, he’s not coming.” He released another aggressive cloud of antiseptic into the air. “That guy was a fraud, Viktor, just like this rink is a convenient money-laundering facility for your re--”

He was interrupted by the jingle of bells as a man in a fluffy rainbow sweater opened the door. “Hello?”

“I told you he was coming to the rink!” Chris huffed, indignantlyindignant. He held out his hand to the man, who had a rather severe expression on his face despite his excessively flamboyant clothing choices. “Um, Mr... What was your name again?”

“Lee Seung-gil,” the man said with a bit of a lisp. He winked, although the familiar gesture only looked more sinister than flirtatious with his sharp features and severe eyebrows. “I wouldn’t expect you to have remembered my name after a night like that, _chigiya_.” He placed a curious emphasis on the foreign word, and Chris’s friends looked at him suspiciously.

He paid them no mind. “Anyway, Mr Gil--”

“Mr Lee,” the man corrected with an exaggerated flourish that made the shaggy fibers of his sweater shake.

“Uh, Mr Lee, this is Viktor Nikiforov,” Chris said, introducing the two men. “He owns this rink, and as you can see, he is a very rich man, a man of discerning tastes who very much loves poodles.”

“Ah, I see,” Lee Seung-gil said; his voice was barely more than a whisper. “A fellow poodle enthusiast.”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “I am very... how you say?... enthusiastic about poodles, indeed.”

Lee Seung-gil nodded with both his head and his hands. “We shall get along quite fabulously then, Mr Nikiforov.”

“Please, Mr Lee, call me Viktor,” the silver haired man said. “Here at Ice Kremlin, we are all... _family_.”

 

 

Lee Seung-gil had been describing his vision for Poodles on Ice in excruciating detail for an hour now. Viktor’s smile only grew as he listened to the director describe his masterpiece.

His rinkmates, on the other hand, stared at each other in horror and disbelief.

“Why does the director look like a parrot?” Chris murmured under his breath.

“There’s something about this that’s.... weird, right?” Yuuri asked, as they listened to the strangely blank-faced man illustrate his point with large sweeping hand gestures and suggestive thrusts of his pelvis.

Yurio agreed. “Weird, indeed.”

JJ just looked bored. “When is this gonna be over? Tonight is a very special night.”

Yuri growled in protest. “JJ, you and Chris have dinner at Vkusno! every month. It’s hardly special.”

“Well, Yurio, today is not only our monthly dinner, it’s also my six-month anniversary with Isabella!” JJ exclaimed.

“Isabella,” Yuuri said thoughtfully. “Hey, Chris, didn’t you used to date someone named Isabella?”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “For like three years.” He resumed re-lacing the rental skate in his hand, then passed it to Yurio to be disinfected.  “It’s cool though. It turns out she was using me to get to JJ the whole time, but we’re still friends.” His next words were lousy with bravado. “She was always more into me than I was into her, anyway.”

“Well, yeah. That was obvious,” Yuri muttered, unleashing another noxious cloud of Lysol into the air. His growling increased in volume and intensity.“Christ, JJ, you and Chris are so codependent you can’t even go on a date without him.”

Yuuri made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

However, before either Yuri could make any further comment on the ambiguous yet sexually charged nature of the friendship that Chris and JJ shared, the man in the shaggy rainbow sweater twirled himself around in a circle and made several high-pitched yapping noises. The four skaters startled, Yuuri nearly dropping the skate whose blade he had been polishing.

Viktor, however, looked positively enthralled. By the end of the evening, he had purchased the exclusive rights to Poodles on Ice for the bargain sum of 100,000 rubles.

 

 

”Have you read the script for Poodles on Ice yet?” Yuuri asked a distracted Yuri. They were at Gulluoglu, a Turkish bakery a few blocks away from the rink, taking an unofficial break in the middle of the afternoon.

“Yeah like. Most of it,” Yuri said. He wasn’t really paying attention to Yuuri, or to the pastry case--he was too busy fixating on a man at the register with an undercut who was currently fishing for change in the pockets of his leather jacket. “What’s with all the yipping?”

“I guess we won’t really know until we get the choreography,” Yuuri mused. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he considered the various cakes and confectionaries on display. He pointed to a pink glazed monstrosity. “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t fucking know. I’m not like an expert on Turkish sweets,” Yuri growled.

“You were the one who wanted to come here,” Yuuri reminded him. “You literally said, ‘Yuuri, let’s go here. They have the best Turkish pastries in St Petersburg.’”

“I said no such thing!” Yuri hissed. In fact, he had said exactly such a thing.

Yuuri paid him no mind and returned to his contemplation of the pastry case. “Hey, Yurio, isn’t that the guy you’re obsessed with?” He pointed to the young man with the undercut and the leather jacket at the register.

Yuri grit his teeth. “I’m not like, _obsessed_ with him...”

“Oh. You’ve just been following him around and occasionally shouting at him for the last three years because...?”

If Yuri narrowed his eyes any more, they would be sharp enough to remove a man’s internal organs with a single glance.

“Go on, talk to him,” Yuuri urged.

Yuri shook his head.

“Look. It’s worse if you just follow him around and stare at him without saying anything.”

“C’mon, piggy, you have to come with me.” Yuri was digging his fingernails into Yuri’s sweater like claws to yank Yuuri along with him.

“No, Yurio. This is something you are going to have to learn how to do for yourself,” Yuuri said firmly as he pried his sweater free.

“I need you so I can look more... normal.” Yuri was starting to feel nervous, and whenever he got nervous, he began acting less human and more... feral. Already, his senses were heightened and his hair prickled on his neck. If he were any more stressed out, he might start hissing and spitting at any moment.

“Well, if you want to do that, you should probably start by wearing only one cat-themed item of clothing at a time...”

“Yuuri!” Yuri pulled his hair back in an anxious ponytail and zipped his tiger-print hoodie in an attempt to cover his tiger-print shirt.

“OK, OK, that’s a little better Yurio...” Yuuri assured him. “Here, let me get some of this cat hair off you...” He tried to brush a clump of grey fur off Yuri’s shoulder, but it clumped to his hoodie stubbornly.

Yuri thrashed in his grip, utterly uncooperative as always. “Don’t let him hear you call me Yurio!” he grumbled. 

Yuuri sighed, and shoved Yuri into the pastry rack nearest to the register. Some people, you just couldn’t trust to do what was good for them.

 

 

Otabek stiffened. Something about that voice seemed familiar. He looked over his shoulder, immediately recognizing the unruly black hair and blue spectacles.

 _Great_. Wherever Yuuri Katsuki was, Yuri Plisetsky was sure to be nearby...

He didn’t have a chance to think before a striped blur landed in his arms.

Yuri didn’t quite knock over the rack of sweets. He knocked into a familiar, leather-clad mass instead, one that absorbed his impact. “Hey--hey Otabek!”

Sure enough, Otabek had just caught an armful of the Russian Punk, who was still threatening to tip into the rack of pastries, his cheeks red enough to match his Team Russia jacket (which was filthy with cat hair) and glaring besides.

The glare was the most confusing part--Otabek did not understand why this strange small cat man insisted on following him around all the time, but he’d found himself cornered yet again. He hadn’t wanted to start avoiding his favorite Turkish bakery--he really did love their bitter coffee and sweet baklava--but it looked like he no longer had any choice in the matter. Once Yuri discovered one of Otabek’s hangouts, it immediately became one of his stalking places, and he could never return. 

He sighed. You rescue a young and impressionable skater from a crowd of crazed fans by swooping in on your motorcycle once, and then they imprinted on you for life or something, he supposed. Well. He had been wanting to try that new coffee shop on (whatever Russian street name), though he would miss the baklava from this place. “What do you want?” he growled, hoping his impatience came through.

“Which one of these things sucks the least?” Yuri asked, rightening himself on his own two feet and jabbing at the glass of the pastry case.

“Do you like nuts, or not?”

“Yeah asshole, I like nuts,” the small man growled.

Again with the anger. Seriously, why even bother to stalk someone whose very existence did nothing but piss you off? Otabek shook his head and pointed to a small oval pastry garnished with a candied lemon slice. “Well then, this one is Şekerpare. Made of almonds and lemon syrup.”

“I’ll take... six.”

Otabek watched as the half-feral cat child scarfed down three of the pastries in a matter of seconds, then shoved the sugar-stained bag at him. The paper was heavy with the remaining sweets.

“Do you want it or not?” Yuri asked. “I’ll eat it if you don’t.” Somehow he managed to make the offer seem like a threat, probably because he was growling again. 

Otabek took the bag. “Thanks, I guess,” he said. He watched as Yuri exited the shop. No sooner had the door opened than two grey cats fell into step at Yuri’s heels.

 

 

Chris figeted in the seat at the far corner of the round table he shared with his ex-girlfriend and his best friend. He, JJ, and Isabella sat at the round table in the back of the restaurant, quietly regarding one another. The waiter brought them their drinks, and they lifted their glasses in a toast.

“To new relationships,” JJ said, gazing flirtatiously at Isabella. They were, after all, celebrating their six-month anniversary tonight.

Chris clinked his glass against theirs a little too aggressively. “To old relationships!” he crowed as JJ’s beer overflowed and a stream of foam trickled over all three of their hands.

They drank, but after their toast the three of them were once again engaged in awkward silence.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Chris asked.

“It’s not weird,” JJ insisted.

“It _is_ weird,” Chris said, answering his own question.

“Actually, Chris, it’s fine,” Isabella reassured him. “It’s just like when you and I were dating, and JJ was around all the time.” Their breakup had been amicable, a mutual incompatibility based mostly on Chris’s inability to sustain an erection in the presence of a vagina for more than sixty seconds at a time.

“Maybe it’s not fine,” Chris moped and took a long pull of his white wine.

JJ gave Isabella a long, soulful look. “Yurio called us codependent,” he explained while playing with the label on his beer bottle.

“Chris, JJ.” She reached out for their hands across the table. “Two grown men shouldn’t be ashamed to need each other so badly.” Her boyfriend and his best friend shared a moment of intense eye contact. Isabella watched intently as she continued speaking. “It’s actually a sign of a deep and meaningful friendship.”

Neither of the men looked convinced. Isabella rolled her eyes. She was going to need to play dirty. “Besides, what does Yurio know about friendship? He doesn’t even have any friends.”

“Yeah, except for that weird Kazakh guy he’s always stalking,” JJ muttered.

“Hey JJ, didn’t you bang that guy once?” Chris asked, fluttering his eyelashes in a nearly flirtatious manner.

“Ugh, don’t remind me....” JJ grumbled.

“Do you still have the tape, darling?” Isabella asked, caressing JJ’s cheek suggestively. The Kazakh was hot as sin, and she didn’t want to miss the chance to see JJ get fucked by a man like that. 

“Sure I do.”

“Can we watch it together, just you and me?”

“Why would you want to watch that?” JJ cringed.

“That’s right, he was awful,” Chris said, nodding in enthusiastic agreement. “He just kinda lay there and the angle made your balls look kind of weird, JJ.”

“Yeah, it was disappointing,” JJ said, disappointed. “With thighs like that, you’d think he’d be a perfect powerbottom.”

Isabella sighed. Of course a man that beautiful would have to be bad in bed. Oh well. At least JJ had dozens of other tapes they could watch together...

Unfortunately Isabella’s daydream was soon interrupted by JJ realizing something. “Hey, wait a second dude,” he said, “you _watched_ my sex tape?” 

“Yeah JJ. I watch all of them,” Chris said, completely nonplussed. “You’re like my favorite pornstar.”

“Dude.” JJ cocked an eyebrow. “Men don’t have favorite male pornstars.”

“Sure they do!” Chris was emphatic in his response.

“No _straight_ man does,” Isabella said under her breath, stifling the impulse to say it loudly enough for Chris to overhear while she refilled their wine.

Despite the three bottles of white wine she split with Chris, and the dozen beers JJ managed to consume, her boyfriend and his codependent bromosexual life partner did not, in fact, rub boners that night, much to Isabella’s deep disappointment. _Goddamn it_ , she’d been waiting for the strange homoerotic tension between the two men to break for years now... 

Isabella grit her teeth--she loved both men deeply, and only wanted what was best for them, but this level of sexual repression could not be good for anyone involved. Soon enough, for the greater good, JJ and Chris would have to bang--and Isabella could only hope that she’d be there to catch every excruciating detail on camera in explicit glory.

 

 

Yuuri looked at the towering pile of paper that Viktor had placed on the bar, and narrowed his eyes skeptically. “I’m not so sure about this flyer idea, guys...”

Viktor gazed at his fiance, heartbroken. “You don’t like poster, baby?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but JJ cut him off. “Nah dude, flyers are great. How else are we supposed to find our supporting cast?”

“A flier does all the work for us!” Chris agreed. He patted JJ on the ass, the kind of totally platonic ass-patting that absolute did not mean anything sexual.

Yuuri was not convinced. “The Internet? Craigslist?”

“You don’t want to advertise on Craigslist,” Chris said with authority. “ You post an ad on Craigslist and the next thing you know, you’re being gangbanged by five muscle daddies with a bukkake fetish.” 

All three of his friends looked at him in shock.

“Chris, why were you getting facials from five muscle daddies?” Yuuri asked. It was hard to tell whether his tone was mocking or concerned.

“No questions! We’ve moved past that, and now we’re onto the flyer thing!”

The four of them sat and contemplated the massive stack of flyers. It certainly seemed like distributing them would be an awful lot of effort....

Their contemplative silence was interrupted by a creaking door and a cacophony of cats. The four men looked at each other,

“Hey, Yurio! We have a job for you!” JJ said. 

Knowing exactly what JJ was going to say next, Yuri groaned.

 

 

Yuri walked down the street, cursing and carrying a large stack of fliers. The rest of the skaters were constantly making him do all the shitty jobs that no one else wanted to do, and he was sick of it...

A gust blew a handful of flyers onto the sidewalk, and Yuri didn’t bother to pick them up. He still had about five billion flyers, and they were altogether impossible to get rid of. It seemed that most people were suspicious of a man only 163 centimeters tall who was covered in cat hair with a growling problem, and the passing pedestrians quickly veered to avoid him  

Someone jostled Yuri on the shoulder, and he hissed reflexively.

However, rather than trying to get away from Yuri as quickly as possible, the stranger spoke in a familiar voice. “Hey. I think you dropped something.”

Yuri turned around. Sure enough, he was greeted by the Georgi Popovich, disgraced former competitive figure skater and present-day street rat. His hair was styled in a lopsided pompadour, and he had dark grey smeared around his eyes and mouth that could have been makeup, but also could have been dirt. It was hard to tell, and Yuri was not interested in getting a closer look as the scent of old vodka and wet dog clung aggressively to the other man.

He did, however, accept the proffered flyers with a grimace. “Heeeey, Georgi. You must be doing... well. You look... good?” It was a lie. The man looked terrible.

Georgi’s face fell. “Well, my life has been in a bit of a tailspin ever since you guys paid me all that money to lose that competition....”

Georgi had, at one time, been a promising young figure skater. However, his career had come to an abrupt end several years ago, when Viktor bet heavily against him in the Rostelecom Cup. The lovelorn man had had an unusually good season that year, and Viktor, desperate not to lose the 2.5 million rubles he had invested in Georgi’s failure, bribed the man to throw the competition. He managed this by insinuating that Georgi’s ex, the oft-lamented love of his life Anya, would marry him if he accepted 500,000 rubles to come in last place.

Of course, when Georgi approached Anya later with the finest ring that 500,000 rubles could buy, she had no idea what Georgi was talking about, stubbornly insisting that they would never get back together. From that day on, Georgi was a broken man.

Georgi’s downward spiral had not stopped there, however. Only three weeks after the rigged competition, a local newspaper uncovered the bribe. After a thorough investigation, Georgi was disgraced: stripped of all his medals and banned from competing. He now spent his days wandering the subways of St Petersburg lamenting his lost love, subjecting unassuming commuters to his droning off-key ballads and mournful lamentations.

Yuri tapped his foot impatiently as Georgi retold his tragic life story. Everyone had problems; Georgi should just learn to move past it like Yuri and the rest of the Skate Gang. This was exactly the reason no one had liked him, even before he had started smelling like a dog orgy.

“Hey, Georgi, you look like you could use a little extra cash,” Yuri said. The open guitar case at the man’s feet was nearly empty, which was not surprising since Georgi tended to sob rather than sing.

“Well, considering that my name is disgraced and I can never return to the ice--”

“Look, hand out these fliers and I’ll pay you.”

Georgi regarded the handful of flyers skeptically. “How much?”

“No, not _actual_ rubles. But I’ll buy you a rotisserie chicken...” Yuri trailed off, letting the offer hang tantalizingly in the air.

Georgi closed his eyes, took a deep sniff, then held out his hand for the flyers. “I will do it,” he said, his voice deep and serious.

Before walking away, Yuri grabbed a copy of the flyer, carefully folding in in a small square that he stuffed into his hoodie pocket. The action was not missed by Georgi.

“Saving one for Otabek?” Georgi said.

For a drunk, the man missed nothing. “If you want your chicken, Georgi, you’re going to need to stop asking stupid questions and hand out the flyers.” 

Georgi put his guitar into the case, tucked the stack of flyers under his arm, and did just that.

 

 

Yuri was following Otabek down the street again. It was a Thursday, so Otabek was on his way to the studio where he interned twice a week. They were currently outside of one of the bakeries where Otabek sometimes liked to stop and get coffee, and Otabek, true to form, came to a complete stop in front of the window.

Otabek took a couple of steps away from the storefront, and Yuri’s reflection stared back at him through the glare, undeniable and plain as day. They made eye contact in the reflection, and Yuri panicked, ducking into the nearest alley to press his back against the brick wall in an attempt to make himself as flat as possible. Unfortunately, one of the numerous cats that followed him around everywhere chose that moment to rub its face against his legs with a loud and demanding _meow_.

“Yuri?” Otabek called out. He turned to look over his shoulder, and saw Yuri, lurking against the shadows in the alleyway. “I know you’re there.”

“How did you know?” Yuri grumbled, but he did step out of the alley and back onto the sidewalk.

“The cats. They’re uh, really _loud_.... Do you even realize that you have like six of them following you right now?” Otabek shifted his weight to his left foot, tapping his right heel ominously.

Yuri looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, several cats were sitting behind him on the cracked pavement. “Um...”

Otabek’s foot-tapping intensified. “Listen, Yuri, you have to stop stalking me all the time.”

“I wasn’t stalking you, I was just going to...” Yuri’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the nearby storefronts, “Um, the animal shelter.”

“Okay. Go.” Otabek thrust his jaw in the general direction of the dingy grey building surrounded by barbed wire across the street.

“Wait!” Yuri said. “Since you’re here, you should take this!” He thrust a stained flier into Otabek’s hand.

Otabek grudgingly accepted the flier,then crumpled it between his fingers. He had every intention of throwing it out without even a glance. But then Yuri said, “Hey, aren’t you going to read that?”

“Umm... no?” His eyes narrowed as he regarded the small blonde man.

“You should.” The small Russian man’s words seemed to rumble with warning.

 _Fuck._ Otabek certainly did not have time for this right now. “Why?”

“Hey asshole, the Ice Kremlin is holding a casting call for an ice show. We need skaters, and don’t you need a job?”

Otabek uncrumpled the flier to examine it. Indeed, it was an open call for crew and cast for an upcoming production called “Poodles on Ice”. He was torn--on the one hand, it was a good opportunity for his career, but on the other he’d have to deal with Yuri and his terrible friends all the time.

Well. It was at least worth checking out, right? Even if he got a part, he had no obligation to actually accept.... Otabek folded the paper into a neat square and put it into his jacket pocket while Yuri watched. “Okay. So that’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah. And also, if you ever want--” Yuri was growling. _Gross_.

“Weren’t you supposed to be going to the animal shelter?” Otabek pointed over Yuri’s shoulder to the shelter across the street.

Yuri gave him a look like Otabek had just kicked his kitten, but Otabek just gestured more insistently at the squat, ugly building. “The animal shelter, Yuri.”

Eventually Yuri nodded, and crossed the street, the ever-present parade of cats following him closely as he darted through traffic.

Otabek waited until the shelter door closed behind Yuri and his many cats before jogging down the street at a brisk pace, finally making his escape.

 

 

The next day, the five skaters gathered at the rink for a read-through of the script with Lee Seung-Gil, whose eyebrows and fashion were no less terrifying on a second encounter. They were joined by Yuuri’s best friend Phichit, an enthusiastic young skater with round cheeks and an ever-present smile. His Instagram profile had over two million followers, fans of his sexually suggestive selfies and flirty captions.

“What the hell is this?” Phichit muttered, his Thai accent making the vowels nasal as he uncapped the flask of mango schnapps that he kept on him at all times in case of emergency. The disaster that was unfolding on the ice _definitely_ counted. He took a long, languid pull of the liquor, then tapped Yuuri in the thigh with his flask.

For a moment Yuuri hesitated, but nodded and accepted the drink all the same. “This,” Yuuri whispered, “is Poodles on Ice.” Phichit shuddered, and Yuuri had to cover the grin that crept onto the corners of his mouth at Phichit’s reaction. Oh, Yuuri could be so delightfully _mean..._ it was one of Phichit’s favorite things about him. “Don’t you remember, we read this part just last night...”

“Yuuri, darling,” Phichit purred, “I don’t remember _most_ nights.” He took another pull of the schnapps, grimacing as the rainbow-colored man retold the central love story in _Poodles on Ice_ with lots of unnecessary hip movements, then passed the alcohol back to his best friend, who accepted it gratefully.

Viktor caught the movement, pulling out a flask of his own to toast Yuuri as he drank. Phichit grinned. He’d noticed that Viktor had been feeling especially affectionate that morning, attempting to convince Yuuri to start “unleashing his Eros” over a tumbler of vodka well before noon. Well. It was currently three in the afternoon, Yuuri was flushed with alcohol, and Viktor would get what he wanted after all. Phichit was certainly a good friend, the _best_ friend--after all, he was doing his part to make sure Yuuri had an active and satisfying sex life.

“And then--” the director said, his gesticulations growing wilder and more bizarre by the moment, “the poodles will embrace! They will show the audience their passion!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and handed the flask back to Phichit. Only a trickle of the fruity liqueur remained, and Phichit pouted.

His friend merely pointed to Viktor and made a sly expression. Phichit knew he was planning something and could not resist raising his eyebrows in response.

As the director unleashed a series of high-pitched yelps that resembled the bark of a small and excitable dog, Yuuri began to sashay over to where Viktor was sitting, and seated himself in his fiance’s lap with a lascivious lick of the lips.

Viktor seemed to be enjoying this immensely, if the tortured wiggle he made when Yuuri sat on him was anything to go by. Yuuri, for his part, was whispering in his fiance’s ear while sensuously running his hands over Viktor’s body. A moment later, he had successfully extricated Viktor’s backup flask from his sport coat pocket, and he waved the bottle at Phichit triumphantly before climbing off of Viktor’s lap to hand Phichit the alcohol he so desperately needed.

“And what says passion more than pole dancing? The principle poodle will perform a sensual dance--”

The more the director spoke, the more worried Yuuri’s expression became. “Mr Lee, I’m not sure I can pole dance in a poodle suit.”

“Moya korolevushka, you are master of pole. Remember when we--.” Viktor was drunk and amorous and about to share .

Yuuri cut him off quickly by pressing his palm over Viktor’s mouth. “I can do it again for you, daddy. But of course, it would have to be a private show...”

Viktor got the hint and raced to the office, which he had had outfitted with a stripper pole for exactly that reason. Chris, JJ, and Yuri saw their opportunity and escaped from the Korean man and his terrifying eyebrows, leaving Yuuri and Phichit alone with the deranged director.

Lee Seung-gil continued, caught up in his monologue as though his audience were still listening.

Yuuri smiled at Phichit conspiratorially. “Poodles on Ice is going to bomb and fail.”

“And fail and bomb.” Phichit’s incisor glinted.

“Look, we’d be stupid if we didn’t take advantage of this.... So I’ve taken out an insurance policy for $500,000 on this show.”

Somehow, Phichit’s teeth seemed to get even sharper as he said, “Yuuri darling, I _also_ took out a $500,000 insurance policy....”

The two of them linked their fists, then said in perfect unison: “We’re gonna be rich, bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> love yoi? love always sunny? hit me up on tumblr at [the-stoned-ranger](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com/). i'd love to hear any headcanons and am open to requests involving scenarios from always sunny you'd like to see here.
> 
> the muse has a praise kink and is thirsty as fuck. she just wants to be good for you, so be good to her too and keep those comments and kudos coming!


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